3. dangerous water

We didn’t go to Tommy’s place.

We didn’t even get on a bus to Tommy’s place.

We didn’t go anywhere near Tommy’s place.

I could hardly recognise where we went. It was a lake surrounded by several rocks and a mini forest of trees on the other side. There was a small, abandoned house perched up with the trees; the kind of house that was like a fairytale cottage with a chimney, kind of like in Snow White. I’d like to have gone up there.

I vaguely recalled coming here before for a picnic with my parents and my little brother Daniel, but back then it wasn’t this beautiful. I knew Tommy came here often but this was the first time I’d ever been here with him. If he wanted to be somewhere that barely anyone knew about with me, then obviously he had something to tell me. Or maybe he was just bored. The latter meant that I had skipped school for no reason, so I hoped that he did have something to tell me.

He stopped walking and sat down.

I propped myself down next to him, the grass half tickling, half itching me, “Why are we sitting so far from the water? It’s so pretty. You know, I bet the swans are jealous of it, and all the other birds too, because it’s just too pretty for them. That’s why there are no birds around here. They’re scared of being condescended by the pretty water. Yes.” I nodded vigorously. It made sense. I knew it did. When he didn’t reply, I added, “So since the water is so pretty, let’s go closer!” I squealed, jumping up. He grabbed my ankle; a grip so icy I yelped.
“No,” he dragged me back down, “It’s dangerous.” He caressed his right elbow gently.
I frowned, “It doesn’t look that deep.”
“You could fall in anyway, and the creatures that you can’t see might suck you in deeper, past the sea floor, and you’d get lost forever. I could jump in after you, search for you, and probably drown trying.”
“Did you eat some bad peas at lunch?” I raised an eyebrow.

Without a reply, I gave up on trying to get closer to the water. We just sat there, watching the waves ripple and splash on top of the small rocks. The water was a pristine blue; a huge contrast to Tommy’s eyes, which were amber against the sunlight. The scene in front of us could’ve been a painting—it seemed too pure, too perfect to be true. The trees were topped with lusciously green leaves and the lake gently glistened under the sun. It really was like a fairy tale.

I let my hair out and allowed it to stream according to the wind direction. It was my best and most admirable feature, in my opinion. Tommy gently held a few strands in his cold hands and looked at it in admiration and... almost nostalgia for a moment.

“It’s so light...” he murmured, as if in a trance. I blushed, “Why is it so... long?” he muttered, almost to himself.
I cleared my throat, “Maybe because I grew it.”
“Right. That is a rather reasonable explanation.”

I laughed. I was beginning to worry about the fact that he was quite silent the whole journey to this place, but now he was back to his old self. Asshollish, but always managing to make me smile or laugh. I almost forgot that I was supposed to be at school (but I really did want to skip that math class).

“So, you made me ditch school just to come here with you. What’s your explanation, mister?” I demanded, crossing my arms and pretending to be all high and mighty.
“I just wanted you to come with me,” he shrugged loosely, lay on his back, and closed his eyes.
“You’re tired again, aren’t you?” I sighed, lying down beside him.
“Maybe,” he whirred out, not opening his eyes.
“You should stop coming home so late,” I accused, “Even I don’t know where you go or what you do so late at night... or so early in the day.”
“I’m sorry, Ash,” he said quietly, “Personal stuff.”

I understood. Whenever he said ‘sorry’, you could bet your life that he was being serious. I knew because I knew Tommy, and I knew how he was with his personal life. And that didn’t only include objects in his room. Without him telling me, I could deduce that he didn’t have a very good relationship with his mother, and he didn’t have a father that I knew of. To him, his home ‘reeked of his mother’s smell and her cooking’, to put it in his exact words. Mrs. Hayford was working most of her life.

Outside of home it was for Tommy most of the time.

“You’re uncomfortable,” he said loudly, “Don’t let me get to you. This is a really nice place. Enjoy it while you can.”

I smiled and relaxed in my position. I stared at the sky, examining the pretty fluffy formations that we humans called clouds. It seemed rather ridiculous that something so cute and white was actually stinky and full of raindrops.

“Can you see the bunny?” I asked, “That one right there. It’s looking down, though,” I pointed to the cloud.
“It looks more like a dying rose to me,” he said, narrowing his eyes as if he could see further if he did so, “being engulfed in flames...” his voice drifted off, and he closed his eyes again.

Even though he wasn’t looking, I frowned upon him. Sure, make me laugh and smile once, then ruin the whole afternoon by destroying my fantasy. I couldn’t look at the cloud in any other way now, and it wasn’t drifting away. Thanks, Tommy. Thanks to you and your morbid mind.

I breathed out and sought out some more cutely shaped clouds. I found a rocking horse and a dragon but decided not to alert the oh-so-innocent Tommy about it since, one: he’d spoil the image for both the prettily shaped clouds and move on to comparing the rest of them to god knows what, and two: he looked so peaceful and serene, his slight form so gently still on the fresh grass.

A soft breeze misshaped the clouds and flexed the long grass around Tommy. They softly swayed around him, like little fairies daintily dancing around a beautiful flower. Because that was what he was; a beautiful being in the cruel world he lived in.

His face twitched. Just lying there, I realised how vulnerable he looked and smiled. I reached out to stroke his cheek, but stopped myself because I knew that would wake him up (from past experience, and, well, he was an abnormally light sleeper).

Abruptly, he gasped, his eyes snapped open and he sat up. Startled, I jumped up. He inhaled, exhaled quickly and looked around him. His eyes were wild, still amber.
“Did you...” he started, then blinked, “Were you watching me the whole time?” his tone changed suddenly, from confused to somewhat quizzical.
“Uhh... maybe?” I said, looking around and pretending to look for something. No way was I going to get caught out again. It was just too embarrassing, “I was just looking for more clouds.”
“On my face?”
“Don’t be so up yourself,” I scoffed, “I was just looking at you because you woke up like a little kid who just had a nightmare.”

He looked slightly offended. Pleased, I stood up.

“Where are you going?” he asked, already recovered from the slight humility he had just suffered.
“I... don’t know,” I said and looked around where I was standing. Why did I stand up? Tommy smirked at me as I slowly sunk back onto the grass. Damn, why couldn’t I embarrass him without embarrassing myself a few seconds later?

He didn’t lie down again. He kept his eyes wide open, as if afraid to fall asleep again.

“So...” I said, “Did you have a bad dream?”
He coughed, then laughed, “No. Well, yes. I was dreaming about you,” he teased.
I slapped his shoulder, “That’s mean.”
“You know what, Ashley?” He stood up, “I don’t care!”
“Now what are you standing up for?” I questioned.
“Unlike you, I have a reason. I have something I want to do,” he answered, and briskly walked away.

Obviously he was leaving the option of following him to wherever up to me to take up. Well, I followed him, even though I knew very well that whenever he does this, it’s usually when he doesn’t want to be followed. Also, I didn’t really like the idea of being left alone in a place I didn’t know, no matter how pretty it was.

I was glad I ignored my mind’s protests and warnings against a potential deathly cold glare from Tommy and followed him because we ended up going to the cottage I saw and wanted to visit earlier. We walked for fifteen minutes in silence, but filled it up by breathing in the scent of fresh grass and enjoying the breeze.

“I come here when I need to think,” he told me before opening the door.
“You think?” I asked, amused.
“Of course. I’m very pensive.”

I rolled my eyes.

The cottage was rather unkempt and rough-looking. Well, it was to be expected, being abandoned and occupied by Tommy, who didn’t have the word ‘tidy’ in his vocabulary. Before us was a wide stretch of chipped brick wall; the smudged graffiti on it had faded somewhat. A large, dead tree arched over itself nearby, sending dark, misshapen shadows trickling over the long grass; I saw it looking out the heavily cobwebbed and dusty window with busted frames.

On the back of the door was three words scrawled in red permanent marker and judging from the way the ink smudged (quite terribly) from left to right, the person who wrote it was left-handed.

Til Ella’s 21st

Under it was a sequence of crossed-out numbers starting from fourteen. They stopped counting down at nine.

I beamed toothily at the back of Tommy’s head. He looked startled and nearly jumped back in surprise when he turned around and saw me grinning at him like an idiot.
He recovered, and frowned, “What?”
“Who’s Ella?” I swooned, clasping my hands together and putting them on the side of my tilted face. I pasted what I knew was an annoyingly sweet smile on my face and hoping that my eyes twinkled so I looked like a love-crazy girl from dramas.

He turned his head away from me and looked up out of the window. I bounded to him, making giggly noises and slapping him on his back, “No need to be shy, Tommykins, you can tell your Ashes anything!”

Actually, I was rather jealous, and I would be at any girl who had a closer relationship to Tommy than I did.

He muttered, almost inaudibly, an answer to my question, “You don’t know her.”

Come to think of it, who was Ella? Did he even know who she was? I mean, anyone could’ve written her pretty name on the door; it wasn’t necessarily Tommy who wrote it. There were plenty of left-handed people out there. Then again, he did answer as if he knew her.

I knitted my brows together, deciding to push further, “Well, can I meet her?”
He laughed bitterly, emotionlessly, then smacked his lips and sharply inhaled as if he had eaten something spicy that hurt his tongue, “No.”

I was stung and bit my bottom lip. Did he have to keep this girl who may or may not be his girlfriend a secret from me?

But all the hurt and disappointment faded away and transformed into awe as he whipped out a thick black marker and wrote something on the door in his own speedy, jagged writing.

The immediate smudges caused by the side of his left hand made the dark ink appear to be thick, oozing black blood, the grim nature of the words emphasised.

Then he turned around, smiling at me bitter-sweetly, as if he were remembering some good times. The pain etched on his face was unreadable, yet unbearable for me to watch, and my heart slowly shattered when I saw a single, glistening tear roll from his eye.

The flames from hell took her away from me.

2. orange juice

“Orange juice,” Justin took an attractively noisy slurp out of his juice popper and elbowed me, causing me to create an unsightly scrawl on my work, “I love orange juice.”
“We know,” Carol sighed, “and that’s already on our shopping list for this oh-so-exciting birthday party for you so, please, for a minute, shut up about the orange juice.”
“Hey, easy on the birthday boy, Carol,” Justin said, raising his hands in surrender.
“You’re not the birthday boy yet, kawaii girl,” Tommy pointed out innocently. I stifled a snigger. Tommy always called people names with adjectives from his own language. I guess it was kind of payback after being harshly picked on in junior high for being just about the only half-Asian in the school, and it had become a habit obviously, because Justin was one of the few that didn’t bully him.

“Jealous are we, Hayford? Someone’s birthday isn’t until all the way at the end of the year,” Justin sneered.
“Now now, children,” Christian coaxed, casting a glance at Justin, “If we can’t play nicely, then we can’t play together.”

Carol blew raspberry with her cherry chapsticked lips.

“Yes, mother,” Justin and Tommy said solemnly in unison.
“I’m a dude, fags. I have a dick.” Christian rolled his eyes. Justin coughed.
“Really?” Carol quirked an eyebrow, “How big is it?”
“Carol!” I hissed, “You don’t just ask guys how big... it is!”
“What about hot dogs? I love hot dogs too!” Justin squealed, like a girl, out of the blue.

I had already lost interest, and so had Carol. While they were discussing their male sex organs and body parts, Carol and I were trying to make sense of all the x’s and f’s in my polynomials (I had a test tomorrow and was so screwed). Christian had been silenced by Carol’s question and was absent-mindedly poking his lunch, some of the peas rolling off. Tommy was also occupied with his lunch, except most of it was going into his mouth rather than off the table.

“Son of a bitch!” Justin shrieked. We all turned to see what had caused Justin’s humorously high-pitched outburst of anger. People sitting around us in the lunch room, who had been peacefully eating their food, also turned around. There were a few laughs and snickers, some amused smiles, but mostly an entertained silence.

Justin had managed to squirt his orange juice all over his school shirt, “I fucking ironed this shirt yesterday, man!” he whined, desperately fumbling for a napkin or tissue to clean his shirt.
“You iron?” Tommy quirked an eyebrow questioningly. Justin glared at him.

When he realised that just about the whole school was on the verge of laughing at his stupidity, he just grinned peevishly and yelled, “Come to my party this Saturday, at Tommy’s house. There’s gonna be heaps of food and... well, just come!” With an extra emphasis on the last two words.

That was Justin.

They laughed. There were excited murmurs, along the lines of ‘Tommy’s house? That’s hot!’ Soon, people, one by one, returned to their own small, quiet conversations. It took a while for Justin to notice that we were all still staring at him.

He arched an eyebrow, “What?”
“Smooth.” Tommy stated.
“Sexual innuendo much?” I laughed.
“You just have dirty minds,” he retorted defensively.
“And you don’t?” I challenged.
“Of course not,” he said indignantly.
“That would be why you put such an obvious stress on the last two words. Just come, eh? Not horny at all,” Christian snickered, gently placing a hand on his thigh.
“Dude,” Justin jumped up, looking at Christian with a shocked look on his face, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Leave the poor guy alone, Just. It’s not his fault you’re such an irresistible casanova,” Tommy drawled, barely amused and not looking anywhere but at his food, which he was still carefully putting into his mouth.
Justin grinned, obviously pleased, but seriously said, “Just because I’m an irresistible casanova doesn’t mean that dudes,” he shot a glance at Christian, whose ears went pink, “Can just go around groping around my crotch!”
“’Fuck’s sake,” Tommy said, taking in a grateful mouthful of peas, “Get over yourself.”

Justin opened his mouth to shoot out a cleverly thought-out retort but Carol got to it before him, “How can you eat that?” she shivered, “I hate peas. I mean, I know they’ve, like, zero fat in them and everything, but they taste like shit.”
“Honey, I’m a vegetarian,” Tommy said with his mouth full of healthy greens and throwing a triumphant look at Justin, “I actually think they taste pretty good.”
“No shit, bony ass.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay, genius, if you’re so smart—”
“I never said, or implied that I was smart.”
I stared at him for a moment, feeling stupid, “Whatever. Help me with these polynomials. They’re giving me a migraine,” I groaned, massaging my temples with two fingers.
“Can’t be bothered,” he yawned.
“Meanie.”
“Slut.”
“Oi. Do I always have to be the father—” Christian started, nervously shifting away from Justin.
“Mother,” Justin interjected.
Christian fumed, “You want more orange juice on your precious shirt, pretty boy?”

Justin raised his hands in surrender for the second time in five minutes.

“Oh, mumma,” his said, attention abruptly swerved, whistling at a busty girl in a denim micro skirt, “I gotta invite her to my party. I’ll be right back,” he hastily got out of his chair, “Hey, girlie!”
“I thought he just invited the whole school?” Carol shook her head, “I don’t get that kid sometimes.”
“You know the fucker he is,” Tommy shrugged, taking in a mouthful of carrots. Carol cringed.
Justin bounced back happily after a few minutes, “I got a girl, and her number. Score!”
“Man whore,” Christian commented with a cough. Justin raised a fist.
“Hey...” I warned.
“Hey, if you wanna use my place for your party you’ll put that fist down,” Tommy said calmly, “Unless you want to hold your party where your parents are home. Also, you’re going to be the one who fills up the pool because I’m not going anywhere near that shithole.”

Justin’s face scrunched up, and then he sat down.

“You could at least be happy for me,” he wailed.
“I thought that with age comes maturity,” I said.
“No, it’s ‘with great power comes great responsibility’,” Christian corrected me. I nudged him.
“I was conjugating it,” I hissed at him, “So it fit the context.” He gave me a weird look.
“How many chicks have you slept with in this past month, anyway?” Carol asked like an interrogator, and it was funny of her to ask that because being the sexy blonde she is, she was quite the hooker as well.
“I wouldn’t know,” he answered, pretending to think.
“You’re such a pimp,” Christian sighed, “how did we become friends again?”
“You pissed your pants in third grade and I took you down to get new shorts.”
“Right.”
“Seriously, Christian?” Tommy choked on his food, “Third grade. Who still pisses their pants in third grade?”
Christian went red in the face.

“What do you think happened to that girl who fell off her balcony?” I butted in, changing the subject and darting my eyes at Tommy to see his reaction to my interest in the topic. He stopped eating and gave me an amused look.
“You mean that hot girl?” Justin piped, “I heard she went a bit woozy in the head ‘cause this hot guy visited her and she couldn’t think straight.”
“She didn’t fall, she jumped,” Tommy said.
“Oh? You know that because?” Christian asked casually.
“Did anyone actually listen to what I just said?” Justin asked, waving his hands around.
“She was on hallucinogens. The police found LSD in her.”

We all turned to Justin.

“Whoa,” he raised his hands, and lowered his voice, “Just because I—my brother has some doesn’t mean I gave some to some random chick, even if she was hot. It could’ve been my brother anyway.”
“I still think you should give up on it,” I mumbled anxiously, restraining myself from going on a rant and slightly afraid that he would lash out on me. He was pretty sensitive about it.

We sat in an awkward silence. Either we all felt uncomfortable about Justin’s addiction to drugs or we didn’t want to talk about such a grim topic. I immediately felt guilty about bringing it up and made a mental note never to do it again.

“Well, I’m wagging school tomorrow to go food shopping,” Tommy said, changing the topic. I telepathically said thank you to him.
Justin grasped his shoulders and shook them, pretending to cry emotionally, “Thank you!”
“Off,” Tommy brushed him off as if he were a bug, “By the way, Ash, you’re coming with me tomorrow.”
“What?” I asked, looking up, “I have a polynomials test tomorrow!”
“Obviously you aren’t ready for it, so just come,” he rolled his eyes.
“Listen to your good daddy,” Christian said with a great, big cheesy smile.
“Fuck you. I’m not married to you,” Tommy said, disgusted.
“I’m cut, Tommy!” Christian raised a hand to his forehead, “Say you love me beyond the seven seas, say you can’t live without me, and I shall live!”

Tommy slowly raised an eyebrow.

“You’re supposed to comply,” Christian sighed, “Never mind.”
“That was stupid.”
“Shut up.”
“So Ash, you coming?”

I hated being pushed into things, but I couldn’t find the energy or will to deny Tommy. “Fine, I’ll come... but you’re paying for everything.”
“Don’t worry, Ashley,” Carol patted me on the back and winked at Tommy, “Tommy’s loaded.”
“Exactly why I’m friends with him,” Justin grinned, earning him a hard slap on the back of his head, “Ow.”

Tommy shook his head, “Come on, Ashley, let’s go,” he ordered, standing up.
“Where?” I groaned, “You’re ruining my education!”
“My place,” he said, ignoring my comment.
“I wanna go to your place,” Carol whined.
“Me too,” Justin said with the same tone. Tommy glared at both of them.
“You’re turning me into a truant,” I cried, “If heaven doesn’t forgive me for this, I will personally start a war against you!”
“Man, Ashley you’re one weird chick,” Justin said, “Most girls would kill to go to a house as posh as Tommy’s, with a guy as sexy as him.”

Tommy shot him a menacing look, obviously not flattered by Justin’s unnecessary... compliment.

“Consequence for befriending me,” Tommy said, ignoring my feeble threat and not bothering to respond to everyone’s comments, “Now, come on.”
“Didn’t you not want me to be over the other day?” I said, stubbornly staying in my seat.
“Yeah, but I’m bored and I don’t want Justin, Carol or Christian over at the moment.”
“Gee, thanks. Nice to know you love me,” Carol said, turning her nose up, “You do realise you’re leaving me with Christian and Justin, right? I mean, that’s like, leaving me to be completely consumed by the flames of hell!”

Tommy flinched.

“Nice to know you love us too, Carol,” Justin piped.
“Don’t worry, Christian,” she said sweetly, “I love you.”
“Oi...”
“Coming, Ash?” Tommy said again, getting a little impatient.

Again, I couldn’t find it in me to refuse Tommy’s request. I reluctantly got up and put my books in my bag, “I’ll see you guys later then,” I said apologetically.
Carol shrugged, “Have fun.”
“Get. It. On.” Justin said, making unethical movements with his hips and arms.

Tommy had already gotten bored and begun his beeline to the exit. He didn’t look back to see whether I was following him or not; not that I was expecting him to. He just briskly walked out, drawing many eyes to himself as he easily glided past several tables. I hurriedly swung my packed bag over my shoulder and scurried after him.

“Wait!” Justin’s voice echoed across the cafeteria. Many heads turned at the familiar voice of the guy with the juice on his ironed shirt. Tommy turned around; a bored and indifferent look on his face. I turned around as well, definitely not expecting something important.

“Don’t forget the orange juice!”

1. candles

“Give it back!” I shrieked, but it was a shriek of pure delight and unconstrained laughter as Tommy held my lucky scrunchie over his balcony. I didn’t really care about it. It wasn’t even that attractive (actually it wasn’t attractive at all—it looked like it was made out of straw). I only thought it was lucky was because it was the scrunchie I was wearing when I first bumped into him.

Thinking back to the time, why did I have to be wearing such an ugly scrunchie when I met him anyway?

“Just how badly do you want it?” he teased with that uncontrollably soft but sneering voice of his, balancing the scrunchie precariously on one finger. I loved his voice; it was soothing and slipped into a whisper whenever he spoke quietly. Tommy wasn’t nice—pretty far from it. He didn’t care about anything very much and took things to the limit.

“Don’t drop it,” I warned. I could tell he knew I wasn’t exactly serious. Even if I was, and he dropped it, I couldn’t be angry at him. Nobody could ever be angry with Tommy. At least, not entirely.

“Why, are you gonna dive after it? Kind of like that bitch in the apartment the other day? The one who jumped off her balcony when she was on some kind of hallucinogen.”
I stiffened at his coldness, “Don’t talk about her that way.”
“Did you know her?”
“Well, no, but—“
“Then you shouldn’t care,” he said offhandedly, “for all we know she could have been a very, very bad person.”
“Or a very good one.”
“I doubt it.”
“How would you know, Tommy Hayford?”
“I don’t.” And with that, he dropped my scrunchie. I saw it coming. Even so, I let out a startled cry and took a step after it. Tommy quickly reached out and held me firmly on the shoulders, as if afraid that I really would leap off his balcony.

“Luck isn’t in a scrunchie, Ashley,” he murmured. I didn’t say anything. I just watched the straw-coloured bundle fall into the ocean below to be engulfed by the crashing waves, my heart sinking. I knew I was being silly, I knew Tommy would tell me I was being silly, but it felt like a part of me disappeared along with the scrunchie. It was, after all, my lucky scrunchie.

“You look upset,” he commented, then released me. I looked down, my long blonde hair falling down my face as I did so to conceal it.
“I’m not,” I lied stiffly, “It’s just a scrunchie. It was ugly anyway.”
“It wasn’t lucky,” he said quietly, then walked back into his room, “how did that start off anyway?”
“I don’t know, you’re the one who...” I thought for a moment, “No, actually I really don’t know. Don’t you just hate it when you want to say something but you forget what you’re going to say? I mean, it’s so annoying ‘cause it could’ve been something really important but you forget it! It’s also annoying this way because we can’t even remember what made you drop my—”
“Whatever, Ash,” he cut me off loudly and leapt onto his bed, the side plank ramming into the already chipped wall as he buried his head in his pillow. He had made that a habit—jumping onto his bed rather than calmly sitting on it like a normal person.

“I’m so tired,” he yawned, closing his eyes and lying face-down on his pillow, “Give us another pillow.”
“No ‘please’?” I asked expectantly, already knowing what he was going to say.
“You know I don’t say that.”
“Whatever.” I tossed a pillow, deliberately at the back of his head. Without lifting his head, his hand searched for it, found it, and placed it under the other pillow. Honestly, he slept so much in the day I sometimes wondered whether he was nocturnal or not and more than often questioned his night time activities.

“You’re welcome,” I said, rolling my eyes when he didn’t say thank you. Not that I was surprised; he didn’t even know the meaning of the word etiquette.

As he languidly lounged on his single bed, I took a leisurely stroll around his room, poking my head into places here and there. It struck me as odd for him to have a single bed of which his feet were only centimetres from the edge; with a house as grand as his, you’d think every room would have a king sized bed and an ensuite.

The massive pool in his equally massive backyard was, as far as he was concerned, a huge waste of space. His mother never had any time to swim in it, and his father... I didn’t even know if his father existed. I’d never seen him in my life, and Tommy never—I repeat, never—breathed a word about him.

The pool spent its days dry and empty. Of the eight years I had known him, it never had a single drop of water in it, except after rain. Pity, and a waste. I’d like to swim in it.

I’d been to his room many times and as far as I knew, there was always something new in it every time I go over. Today, he had an attractive 10 kilo Yellow Pages open on his table.

“Oh, Tommy-poo,” I sang.
“What?” he asked, a little irritated. He always got annoyed when I added a suffix to his name so as to make him sound a little weirder than he actually was. Or maybe it was because I was interrupting his nap; he treasured that too.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked, holding up the Yellow Pages and tapping the open page.
He opened one eye and said, “People who bullied me for being half Asian in primary school so I can track them down and kill them in the most painful, bloody, and gruesome way I like.”
I flinched, “Killing is a sin. You’d go to hell.”
“You always say that.”

But there were always some things that were always there. For example, he had exactly eight candles standing up around the room. I sniffed one. It was scented with strawberry. Pretty.

They weren’t dumped there; it was obvious he had put them exactly where they were. And there were always eight of them. Well, last year there were seven of them, and six the year before that. I guessed he was just adding to his collection.

“You know I don’t like that,” he muttered. Tommy wasn’t very outgoing when it came to his personal things. Still, he appeared to be tired and didn’t even make a twitch to stop me. Instead, he mumbled, “You know, one day you’re gonna find something you wouldn’t like to see.”
“Why, you got something disgusting hidden in here?” I teased.
“Yes, I’m one of the three witches from Macbeth,” he said idly, still not moving.
“Oh, no!” I feigned distress, “Are you going to tell me I’ve got to avenge my dead father because my uncle killed him because he wanted to get into my mum’s pants because he wanted to be king because he wanted to rule the world?”
“That would be Hamlet.”
“Oh.”

Someone opened the door. I jumped and knocked over one of the scented candles. I swore under my breath and cast a glimpse over to Tommy, praying that he didn’t see me drop one of his precious, carefully placed candles. He didn’t. If anything, he had fallen asleep.

“Oh, hello, Ashley,” Mrs Hayford said a little cheerily, bowing; that touch of an Asian accent still hadn’t failed to slightly amuse me.
“Hi Mrs. Hayford,” I replied politely with a toothy grin, bowing back at her.
“Stupid boy,” she shook her head. Tommy had fallen asleep, “he always come home so late and now look at him!”
“He’s just tired,” I said, a little defensively.
“Maybe he wouldn’t be if he don’t come home at 3 in the morning yesterday.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, when he wake up, tell him I want to take him to the... doctor,” she said, and then briskly left the room, muttering some Japanese under her breath. The little hesitation before she said ‘doctor’ told me that was exactly where he wasn’t going. Or maybe it was just her influent English.

I looked back at Tommy. He just slept there, his lanky arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. I always wondered about what he planned to do with his half wasted life. Maybe he would become the first person to be like a crocodile and eat his own babies.

I walked over to him and sat at the foot of his bed, near his cold, surprisingly small feet. A weird thing about Tommy—he got cold so easily that it was a little strange. I could almost feel a cold... aura being emitted from his presence. Maybe his mother wanted to take him to the doctor to check it out.

I reached over and brushed a lock of his dark, silky hair from his pale face. His face scrunched up, and he opened his dark violet eyes, eyes I found so beautiful and mystical because they changed colour in different lightings.

After I was finished being mesmerised by his eyes, I jumped from his bed, “You’re such a light sleeper,” I said, visibly but unintentionally appalled.
“Why,” he stretched, “did you want me to stay sleeping?”
“N-no,” I stammered, “I was merely checking your feet out. They’re hotter than you.” Exaggerated wink.
He smirked, “So, you look like you have something to tell me.”
“I hate how you always know what I’m thinking,” I mumbled, and sighed, “Your mum thinks you’re a lazy pig and she wants to take you to the doctor so she can confirm her theory that you have some kind of laziness syndrome. I’d also like to let you know I think you have it too, because you’re always sleeping half the time I’m around you. Even in school. Did you know that if you sleep during class in a class of thirty people, you have a 96 percent chance of getting caught by the teacher and yeah?”
“Intriguing,” he mused.
“Yup, make sure you tell me all about your diagnosis.”
“Sure thing,” he said, ruffling my blonde hair, “Now...” he gestured to the door, “Go home.”
I stood there, staring at him, “What, again?”
“You heard me,” he shrugged, “Go home.”
“Why?” I cried.
“Because I said so.”
“Tommy, you’re such a meanie poo,” I wailed childishly.
“You’re supposed to be used to it.”
“I’m never talking to you ever again!”
“You said that the last time I kicked you out, and look who’s here.”
“But I always come here! It’s like my second home and everything,” I pouted, “I might as well have my own bed here.”
“Yeah, and this is my first and only home and I’m telling you to go to your first and official home.”
“Why?” I asked again, tugging at my sleeve, “What if the Green Goblin comes in and kills you?”
“I’ll get my cauldron and cast a spell on him.”
“What if he knocks over your cauldron and spills its boiling, bubbling contents all over your floor?”
“My mum will kill him for doing it because she’s gonna have to clean it up.”
“What if your mum’s not home?” I asked viciously. He didn’t have an answer to that. I knew he didn’t.
“I’ll get out my magical wand and turn him into a teddy bear,” he said, expression bored.
“What if—”
“Ashley, go home.”
“Fine.”

He stood under the yellow kitchen light and showed no remorse as I sadly turned and left, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from his beautiful, clear blue eyes.
Then, “If the green goblin does come here, make sure you don’t kill him,” I warned him seriously, “Because if you do, you’ll go to hell while I’ll be going to heaven and we won’t be able to play with each other anymore”
“It’s not like I’m not going anyway.”

what's the time, mr wolf?

It's story time :D

dis gonna be lyk feeownah's c.i.r., except longahh, hardahh and moor sacky (suckable;] )

lyks mai grammah? as yoo can shee dis stooree is gownna bee epickally perfehkt in grammah an spellin. howp yoo lyk it!!

<3